


Upheaval

by 9_of_Clubs



Series: Hand in Unlovable Hand [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cruelty, Dysfunctional Relationships, False Painful Domesticty, Future Fic, Gore, Hannibal Being Hannibal, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 12:59:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1858902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/9_of_Clubs/pseuds/9_of_Clubs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Are you hungry?” Hannibal turns to him, a knife in hand, dark blood staining his fingertips. Will doesn’t manage to hide his horror fast enough and then relents, lets it have free reign of his face.<br/>--<br/>Born of conversations with the lovely <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkbloodlikewine/pseuds/drinkbloodlikewine">Drinkbloodlikewine</a>. A very vicious portrayal of what Hannibal and Will's life together might be like. In a series, but stands alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Upheaval

“Are you hungry?” Hannibal turns to him, a knife in hand, dark blood staining his fingertips. Will doesn’t manage to hide his horror fast enough and then relents, lets it have free reign of his face.

There’s a man on the counter, and he’s young, and his hair is curly, and his body slender, and he looks like Will. He’s also sliced open straight down the middle, a cornucopia of organs spilling out of him, dripping in their fluids, their muted fleshy tones mixing sickly together. Hannibal spares a smile for him and then bends over his work, brings the sharp knife down swiftly three times and lifts a kidney on a fork. Something falls to the floor with a loud splatter and Will winces, Hannibal’s smile grows.

“This, I think would be a particularly fine cut to enjoy.” The kidney drops into the pan, sets itself aside. Hannibal’s fingers stroke through the fine hair, dead cells on a dead body. “He tried to run.” It’s the conversational kind of prodding Will favors, turned against him over the stench of a rotting corpse. Sometimes he wonders why he bothers to play these games with Hannibal at all, but he forces himself to nod, to pick up the thread of the moment. Hannibal would be disappointed if he didn’t and he has to remember it only feels as though he is at a disadvantage. Hannibal’s dramatics are only that, overlarge finger puppets from the shadows. This isn’t the first body he’s seen, his eyes find the empty blue ones on the counter. The other’s voice fills the spaces around them again, Will, Hannibal, the sacrifice of their battles, he looks away from it. “He failed to run fast enough.”

“They often do.” He forces himself to walk past the grotesque scene, past what might have been a grizzly modernist painting depicting the ravages of man on his neighbors, but instead is only his life, makes himself open up the fridge door, retrieving a bottle of juice that they bought together, in a farce of an outing, and pours himself a glass. He leans against the island in their kitchen and tilts his head. “Do you enjoy contaminating our counters?” The glass sets down, half empty. “I thought the kitchen might be more important than that to you.”

Hannibal’s lips curve and in answer he digs his hands into the body, roots around, spilling juices and ripping skin. “Would you prefer I did it in the bedroom?” There’s a laugh on his tongue, unusually high spirits, growing when Will doesn’t respond, only lifts the glass again. “And why should the kitchen mean anything to me?” His eyebrows raise, the picture of deadly innocence. “Kitchens are for men, and I’m well informed of my monstrosity.” The fingers come out and he moves away, dances over to the fridge and lifts the juice with wet fingers, proffering it to Will. “Perhaps you might be grateful I am not doing it in the front yard in the mud.”

He takes the juice and lets the blood stain him, head held high. “It’s you they’d send to jail.” His shoulders pull up to his chin, pours himself the glass because his fingers are threatening to tremble. It’s not against the rules to continue to act through the hits only to hide the effects altogether.

Hannibal’s face twists vengefully, and he knows he’s made a misstep, but it’s too late to pull it back. “Oh no.” He’s gleeful, pressing a kiss to Will’s cheek and turning to the body, flipping it over with ease, knife cutting across ribs. “We couldn’t allow that, could we? We would have to move, and I’ve been so very careful.” He tuts his tongue, falsely mournful. “You like it here, do you not? This house you chose, your dogs. All that upheaval in your life and you’ve settled finally. I’ve been careful to respect that, but if you do not care -” He pauses in his movements, as though waiting, and at Will’s silence looks up, face arranged in a carefully inquisitive stare.

He hates him. He really does, he hates every part of him. The urge to walk over and lift spongy skin, smash it into Hannibal’s somehow untouched shirt, churn it into his cells, overwhelms him.

“Don’t.” He grits out finally, the word choking him, stealing his air, gutting him like the dead man.

Hannibal shakes his head. “That smelled of a demand.” He chides, resuming his cutting, ignoring Will now, almost completely, humming to himself. “I don’t really like demands, do you?”

“Don’t please.” He spits acridly before he can help himself, and Hannibal thins his lips, makes a put upon noise that sounds of displeasure, shoulders shrugging.

“It’s really all the same to me Will, wherever we go, if you truly have no preference, I shall enjoy myself here and we can being planning our escape.” His voice is so light, so infuriating. Will wants to force him to fail at this, to say fine, and pack their bags. But they both know he doesn’t want that, doesn’t want a life on the run again, likes it here, has been putting down roots, stupidly, without being able to help himself. “You do not sound as if you are very truly sincere in your request.”

He swallows the bile in his throat, walks past the glass and the juice, ignores the way his clone’s eyes follow him from the counter and stops in front of Hannibal, reaches up to echo a whisper of a kiss on Hannibal’s cheek. “I’d really like to stay here.” He parrots as much as he can get away with and forces the rest to come from his actual desires. “If you might indulge me, darling.” The sarcasm is inescapable, but Hannibal’s lips huff a laugh, and he accepts the defeat. Will’s hands are already waiting for the knife that is handed to him.

“But of course.”

They make dinner together, leave the kitchen spotless, and sleep, that night, in the same bed.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I'll be posting one a week of this verse for a little while!


End file.
